May I Ask Forgiveness Too?

If I could have my needs arranged
in mood of generosity I’d ask an
easy boon. All I want to see is the
nail clippers were they used to be.

It shouldn’t be an ask to make you
shy away – you are not to blame,
didn’t place them out of reach or
wafted them away. In your defence

you say you have no use for them –
but that is not to say you didn’t
see my deep attachment to
the blessed things. When you

queried me where I had searched
I tried to keep my cool. Of course,
I say, with certain irony, looked there
I did – perchance it is an errand’s fool.

They are, no doubt, not where I’m sure
of leaving them, nor in the room I used
them in, nor anywhere between for
unknown reasons inexplicable to me.

Try the dressing table once again,
you say with vehemence; I shake my
head to signify I won’t comply. You
sigh, glance a pitiable glance; and in a

trance-like state of grace return to place
the clippers in my hand. My needs are now
redressed by you within your mood of grand
civility – so please, may I ask forgiveness too?
© 10 October 2007, I. D. Carswell